


when you're in my arms (love has a face)

by zora (nico_neo)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Trans Male Character, sort of friends to exes to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nico_neo/pseuds/zora
Summary: Home was two places, to Osamu. It was his childhood house in Hyogo, filled with his and Atsumu’s laughter and their granny’s cooking. It was also his shared university apartment in Tokyo, filled with the noises of the coffee machine at seven in the morning and the scent of paint.But to Osamu, home also became someone. Home became sand—green eyes, dark brown hair tied in a manbun and smudges of paint on defined cheekbones. Home became lips on his, tasting like coffee and mint gum. Home became arms wrapped around him and the feeling of a chest against his back, hidden in the fabric of an oversized hoodie.Home, to Osamu, became Rintarou.Alternatively, Osamu kisses Suna goodnight once and everything gets complicated from there.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 11
Kudos: 87
Collections: SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	when you're in my arms (love has a face)

**Author's Note:**

> WOO
> 
> Federica, here's your exchange gift, I hope you'll like it as much as i loved writing it hehe <3
> 
> Also, yes trans suna, maybe i projected, maybe i'm just back on my agenda, who knows eh
> 
> Enjoy! <3

When Osamu woke up in the morning and padded sleepily in the tiny kitchen of his university apartment and found a bright yellow sticker hanging on the door of the fridge.

_ Have an art project to finish, will probably be back late. _

It made Osamu chuckle as he ripped the sticker off and crumbled it into a ball in his fist. He dunked it in the bin in one go, feeling like a low-cost Kobe Bryant for a minute, before turning towards the coffee machine. A day couldn’t start without a morning coffee. He totally blamed Ginjima for making him discover the wonders of a good morning coffee that wasn’t ninety percent water and disgusting instant coffee. A huge amount of his savings were spent on his magnificent coffee maker, but it was worth it. It was  _ definitely  _ worth it.

When he was a bit more awake, after slurping several times on his mug of coffee, he fetched his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and opened his text conversations.

**kirby** [7:53am]: what do you want to eat tonight?

**picasso** [7:54am]: didn’t you get my note?

**kirby** [7:54am]: i did. what do you want for dinner?

**picasso** [7:55am]: i’ll just grab something when i’ll be done

**kirby** [7:55am]: udon it is then

He didn’t get an answer, but a smug grin stayed on his face. Suna was surely groaning like a madman by now. No skipping dinner on Osamu’s watch, what does this guy think? Didn’t he get the memo by now? Furthermore, Osamu needed a taste tester for this new beef udon he wanted to try.

  
  


See, Osamu’s day would be just fine, he didn’t fall asleep in class and actually understood his morning classes and will have enough time to go back to the apartment and work on some assignments before his next class… Then, boom, Atsumu decided to call him.

“What?” he groaned into the phone.

“Whoa, hello to you too,” scoffed Atsumu. He’s already on Osamu’s nerves. “What makes you so grumpy? Someone pissed in your bed?”

“You called me,” said Osamu while pushing his chair away from his desk. He won’t get anything done with Atsumu screaming in his ears anyway. He heard his twin whine at the other end of the call, and it really made him want to remind Atsumu why he was the younger twin and not Osamu. Their parents never told them, probably to avoid any fights. Atsumu can claim whatever he wants, Osamu at least has more than two brain cells, and they don’t scream about volleyball 24/7. 

“Rude,” Atsumu whined one last time, for good measure. “Can’t I call my favourite baby brother when I please?”

“I’m your only brother,” Osamu deadpanned. “And usually, people text when they want to call someone. You know, to ask if they’re available.”

“But you answered,” Atsumu pointed out.

“Because you’d be even more annoying if I didn’t answer than if I did.”

“Aw, you love me so much,” his shitty twin cooed. “Anyway, guess what Bokkun did earlier.”

Osamu rubbed a hand against his face, silently saying goodbye to getting any more work done until his next class. But, he guessed he could listen to Atsumu happily ramble about Black Jackals practice for a while. It felt like he was living it with him, somehow. So, Osamu moved from his desk chair to walk to the small living room and plopped onto the couch.

“I don’t know, but tell me.”

  
  


Nearing ten in the evening, Osamu heard the front door of the apartment close. Not too harshly, but still enough to know the one who slammed it must be frustrated with something. He lifted his head from his notes to look at the newcomer. A man with brown hair, tied in a messy half bun with two bangs falling on his forehead entered the living room, let his backpack fall near the leg of the coffee table and slumped into the couch next to him, with a low groan. Osamu noticed his fingertips were stained in a rainbow of colors. Osamu turned his head to look at Suna.

“Everythin’ okay?” he asked. He only got a groan for an answer and chuckled. “What happened, Rin?”

Suna lifted his head from the backrest of the couch to look at him, frowning and a little exasperated. “I had to redo  _ everything _ . I’m pissed, I’m tired.”

“Hungry?” simply asked Osamu, already getting up to fetch the beef udon from the kitchen. He didn’t wait for a proper answer coming from Rintarou, he’ll probably talk a bit more later. Nothing a good meal couldn’t help with. “Mind setting the kokatsu?”

He didn’t get an answer but he heard fumbling, probably Suna fighting with the heavy blankets. He smiles.

When he went back to the living room, Suna was already settled under the warm blanket and scrolling on his phone, looking less frustrated than earlier. Great. Osamu put the two plates on the table and slid underneath the warm blanket. They wished for a good meal and dug into their food, an old TV show playing as background. 

Later on, when they were both full and Rintarou had given his blessings for Osamu’s new recipe, they both settled against the couch once again, next to each other. Osamu because he had grabbed his notes from where he had left them, and Suna, because even with the warm blanket and the heater of the kokatsu, was running colder than usual during winter. Hence, he tried to get extra heat by staying close to Osamu. It didn’t bother him, Rintarou was a calm and serene presence against him. And if Osamu could help by giving extra heat, then he was glad to do so. 

Suna was lazily sketching on his sketchbook next to him, movements confident and fluid. It fascinated Osamu, making him look more at Rintarou’s thin and slender hands than his notes. It was mesmerizing. 

The other sent him a look, grinning.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

“What are you sketching?” Osamu asked back.

“Teacher asked us to draw something that represented us,” Rintarou tapped the paper of his sketchbook. “I did.” 

It didn’t have any color —yet, Osamu guessed— but Rintarou already shaded it. It represented a boy, up to his waist, faceless but Osamu could easily recognize Suna’s hairstyle. His chest was ripped open, like a fresh open wound. Or a rip you could see on plush toys. The two halves of the chest were tied together with stitches. A chest ripped open, wanting to get rid of the excess here. An excess that wasn’t supposed to be here, that Suna didn’t want here, that didn’t represent him. Hidden by oversized clothes, a slouched position and confining material.

“It’ll be red, here,” Rintarou pointed to the space between the two halves of the chest.

Osamu searched for his roommate's eyes. “You know you’re enough and awesome even if you think that what I’m saying is utter bullshit, right?”

Rintarou chuckled, “I know, that’s exactly what you told me when I came out to you,” he reminded him. He shrugged. “It just sucks. And some days it’s worse than some others,” he shrugged again. “But, what can I do, I just try to forget it’s here, I know some people have it worse than me.” He set his sketchbook and pen down. “It’s just what came to my mind when the teacher asked for this assignment.”

Osamu didn’t answer, Suna didn’t need him to anyway. There are some battles that can only be fought alone. You can just try to make it a little bit easier for them.

“I think you’re a strong person, and that it’s what matters.” Osamu said, sincerely. 

Rintarou smiled at him and got up, popping some joints in his back as he stretched. Osamu winced a little. He was pretty sure Rintarou cracked something that  _ shouldn’t  _ have been cracked, here. 

“Did you take your binder off?” he asked, as Rintarou grabbed his stuff, probably ready to go back to his room. Probably to crash face first on the bed, stay unmoving for a few minutes —or a few hours, depends. 

“I did before going to the studio,” Suna rolled his eyes. Osamu knew he wasn’t annoyed. “Don’t worry, mom.”

Osamu gagged. “Please don’t call me mom again.”

Rintarou freely laughed from the hallway. 

Fifteen minutes later, he was back from the bathroom, showered and in fluffy pyjamas with tiny pizza slices printed on the pants. He sat next to Osamu once again, reading his notes from his shoulder, where his head was resting. It didn’t bother Osamu. Even if the warm breath against his neck tickled a little. 

“Exam?” Rintarou only said.

Osamu hummed. “Next week,” he stayed silent for a one, two seconds before he remembered. “Oh, by the way, I’ll probably go to the library with Gin tomorrow after class, I’ll be back before dinner unless we decide to eat out. Feel free to join.”

“I have practice tomorrow afternoon, I’ll see if I still have enough strength to keep up with both of you.”

“You’re not eating instant ramen after practice.” said Osamu. Conclusion, Suna didn’t have a choice.

“You’re right,” Rintarou agreed. “Why eat instant ramen when I have my roommate as a personal chef.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow, looking at the other mockingly. “Oh, so I’m your personal chef, now?”

“You didn’t know?” Rintarou countered with false surprise. 

“Do  _ you _ know that you’re my personal taste tester, though?”

Suna had the audacity to look offended. 

  
  
  


In the end, he, Ginjima and Suna went to order fast food, because one: it’s cheaper and two: it’s closer to campus than a proper restaurant. And nobody complained, anyway. Sometimes, a non healthy dinner is nice. And it’s always better than instant ramen. 

It’s nicer to catch up with friends in a crappy fast food than a huge ass restaurant where they would cry looking at the final bill. It brings back memories from after highschool, when they would run to the nearby konbini to grab meat buns or ice cream — depending on the season — before Atsumu could bribe them into extra practice. They complained about their classes in mock annoyment — because they all knew, despite their complaints, that they wouldn’t trade what they were doing, and what they  _ planned _ to do, for the world. Osamu managed to steal some fries without Ginjima noticing. (Suna gave him the rest of his, so it didn’t count as stealing.) Overall, they had a really nice evening. It felt great.

Ah, maybe Kita was right, in the end. Maybe having memories was pretty nice, after all. Even though; and Osamu will maintain this way of thinking, what mattered was what you were doing  _ today _ , in the end. 

He really should catch up with his senpais, someday.

They parted ways with Ginjima when they made it back to the dorms. Osamu and Rintarou had to turn left and their friend had to turn the other way. They splitted with a last wave and wished one another a good night. When he and Rintarou reached the third floor, Osamu felt full.

“I ate too much,” he commented.

“You said that at least twice but still ordered another round of fries each time,” Suna pointed out, fiddling with the keys and opening the door of their shared apartment. 

“I was hungry.”

Rintarou huffed softly and flipped the lights open.

“First to the shower!” he hastily said and ran towards the bathroom, making Osamu groan.

“You never let me go first!” complained Osamu, tidying their shoes more neatly in the entrance.

“Because you’re never fast enough to claim it before I do,” Suna noted, poking his head through the door.

“Are you calling me slow? Like, grandpa slow?”

“You called yourself a grandpa, not me.” Rintarou grinned, closing the door behind him.

  
  


“Do I really give grandpa vibes?” Osamu asked, later in the evening when Suna has his glasses sliding off his nose as he’s stretching his body when getting up off the couch. Rintarou had scrolled his phone for the past hour, notes forgotten on his lap and slumped against Osamu. 

Osamu, on his side, had asked Atsumu the exact same question a few seconds after Rintarou had disappeared in the bathroom, to which his twin didn’t give any useful answer apart from a series of keyboard smash and laughing emojis before saying yes, and that he even proved it by dying his hair grey in highschool. Osamu had answered him with the middle finger.

Suna pushed his glasses further up his nose and gathered his notes under his armpit. “Why do you ask?”

“Because ‘Tsumu is an ass, and I need an honest answer,” Osamu furrowed his eyebrows. “I wanted to ask Hitoka but she’ll probably panic and think I’m going through a crisis.”

“Which you are.” Rintarou grinned.

“Just answer me!” Osamu whined, jerking his head against the backrest, facing the ceiling. 

Rintarou moved behind the couch, and Osamu sighed in defeat, thinking he was going back to his room and lifted his head off the backrest, facing his notes again. But, a few seconds later, there’s a hand against the left side of his neck — the fingertips are cold but the palm is warm through the sweater paw — and then there’s lips on his opposite cheek, planting a forcefully sweet kiss against his skin. Osamu found himself smiling, the feeling of Rintarou’s lips still warm, even after they left him.

“If you are a grandpa, then you’re a hot one.” Rintarou said, sliding his hand off Osamu’s neck and retreating to his bedroom while muttering a soft goodnight.

If Osamu was feeling warm because of Suna’s lips, now it was definitely because of the blush he felt creeping on his cheeks. 

  
  
  


Suna has left another post-it note on the fridge this morning, warning Osamu that he would probably come back late again because they had an assignment to finish with Kunimi after volleyball practice. And, like usual, Osamu sent him a text to ask what he wanted to eat for dinner that wasn’t instant ramen. Not that he was giving Rintarou any choice — again — anyway, because Osamu wanted to try a new onigiri feeling he thought of a few days before.

Except that, when Rintarou pushed the door of their apartment open, it wasn’t the view Osamu really expected.

Because, in front of him, Rintarou had a bleeding lip and Osamu is pretty sure his eye will turn purple in a few minutes. Suna threw him a peace sign without a care in the world.

“What the fuck?” Osamu could only utter out, taking big steps towards the other and checking for any other injury. “What the fuck, Rin?” he asked again.

“Don’t freak out, I won.”

Osamu could only look at him helplessly. And, because never two without three. “What the fuck?”

Rintarou rolled his eyes and got rid of his shoes. Osamu couldn’t take his eyes away, eyeing the darkening bruised eye and the bloody lip.

“I’m fine, Osamu.” Rintarou admitted, with a sigh.

“Mhm, call me Atsumu, next time.” he retorted, walking back into the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit. 

When he came back, Rintarou was seated on the couch and scrolling through his phone. Osamu rolled his eyes. He sat in front of him and started to get gauze and disinfectant out. Rintarou glanced at him and Osamu thought for a second that he was going to ignore him and continue scrolling on his Twitter feed but Suna actually put his phone aside. Osamu grabbed the ice pack and handed it to him.

“Put that on your eye,” Osamu instructed. “I’ll clean your lip,” he glanced at Rintarou’s right hand. “And your hand.” he added, sighing. 

Rintarou did as told without complaining. Osamu warned him he was going to tap on his lips, he hissed but didn’t move. Osamu repeated the action several times.

“What happened?” he eventually asked, when the silence became a little too suffocating. 

Suna chuckled. “I got into a fight, and I won.” he stuck his tongue out. Osamu flipped him on the forehead.

“Context, dummy.”

The other rolled his eyes. “Akira and I were finishing our project, still life painting. We took inspiration from Paul Cézanne. Then,” he sighed, but a smile was quirking his lips upwards, like he was amused. “Thingummy and his band suddenly showed up and started complaining that we copied their idea and bla-bla-bla.”

Osamu didn’t know who “Thingummy” was, but he guessed it was one of the art department students.

“So, when Akira starts telling them that they were actually being annoying and their only answer was to go into aggressive mode and ready to  _ actually _ put their hands on him, I stepped up,” he puckered his lips and nodded. “That was a good punch, you should have seen it.”

Osamu mentioned Suna's hand, wriggling it in front of his eyes. “Sure, it certainly was.” he said, sarcastically. He got back to tapping disinfectant on the wounds.

“Hey, three against one isn’t fair, but I still won,” Rintarou pointed out. “When Futakuchi and Konoha turned up, Thingummy and company cowarded out.” he grinned.

“But you were already messed up.” Osamu deduced.

“Details,” Rintarou shrugged, patting Osamu’s cheek gently. “I already won.”

Osamu stared at him, for a long second, before a laugh passed the barrier of his lips. Suna was grinning, not really different from usual, but Osamu could discern the proudness and the ruse in his sandy green pupils. 

In the middle of his tale, Rintarou had dropped the ice pack from his eyes, so Osamu softly guided his roommate's hand back on his face. If his touch lingered more than it should have, fingertips grazing the skin of Rintarou’s fingers when Osamu dropped his hand, then they didn’t say anything. 

“Up for some mentaiko onigiri?” 

“Sure.” 

  
  


When Suna yawned for the third time in a row, Osamu saw him flipping his notebook close from the corner of his eyes and getting up groggily from the couch. He lifted his head to look at him curiously.

“I need a coffee,” he said.

“No you don’t,” Osamu chuckled, also getting up and preventing Suna from walking to the kitchen. “Come on, we’re done for tonight. We should have been done hours ago.”

“I can just study in my room, you know.” Rintarou pointed out.

“Yeah,” Osamu nodded. “I will too, but I won’t see you yawn every twenty seconds, at least.”

Rintarou snorted. “Sure, talk for yourself.”

Osamu will definitely get more work done, maybe a coffee too. But, it was already one in the morning and he really wanted to wake up for his eight in the morning class tomorrow. So, he might actually settle in bed, this time. But, he’s not going to tell Rintarou that.

They reached the hallway leading to their respective bedrooms rather quickly. It’s not like their apartment was huge anyway. Osamu almost pushed Suna inside his room, laughing at the faint resistance coming from the other. Eventually, Rintarou agreed to enter his bedroom, only half of his body inside as he rested his head against the doorway, looking at Osamu.

And Osamu didn’t know if it was the shitty lighting of the lamp above them or if it was the moon he could see shining from Rintarou’s window, but Osamu leaned closer. And when Rintarou didn’t move back and leaned closer — unless Osamu’s eyes were playing tricks on him — he kissed him.

It was a mouth against mouth kiss, with barely any movements, but Osamu could describe it as sweet. Rintarou faintly tasted like the spice of the onigiri they ate for dinner behind the toothpaste and Osamu could feel the healing cut on Suna’s lips against his own. But, Osamu quickly realized what he was doing and cut it short. Even though, deep down, he didn’t necessarily want to. Deep down, he wanted to lean down again, taste more. But, on the surface, Rintarou was looking at him, and Osamu couldn’t read his expression. Was he angry? Shocked? Maybe Osamu would be.

Gulping down the growing anxiety building in his throat, Osamu uttered a small “goodnight” and entered his room without any other words.

When he closed the door behind him and rested his back against it, the feeling of Suna’s lips against his own lingering on his mouth, Osamu could simply utter an indignant “what the fuck?”.

  
  
  


Osamu tried not to think about it too much. But, when the feeling of Suna’s lips still lingered on his mouth, it was vain. What Osamu couldn’t get out of his head, though, was the look on Rintarou’s face when they broke apart. He wasn’t able to decipher it at first, but the more he replayed the scene in his head as he laid awake, the clearer it became.

At first, he thought that Rintarou was angry. His eyes were droopier than usual, casted in the shadows from his eyelashes. His expression wasn't twisted in anger. No, he seemed relaxed, carefree. Surprised —a little bit— but the corners of his lips were quirked upwards. It was slight, but Osamu could see it now. He just hoped it wasn’t a trick of his own mind.

He thought it would be awkward, the next day, during the evening. Suna was already gone when Osamu had to go to class, so they didn’t see each other. On the contrary, Rintarou was already here when he got back from his last class of the day. He had put a canva in the living room and was stained with paint smudges. The TV was playing as background noise. When he had looked up to him, cheeks smeared with orange and pink paint, Rintarou smiled. Happily, he was in his element. Osamu could only smile back at him, a weight lifting from his ribcage.

  
  
  
  


They always watched a movie — or several when they felt like it — on Thursday nights. It was a little tradition they established a little by hazard but that they wouldn’t stop now that they were used to it.

Rintarou suggested  _ Avengers Infinity War _ for the night. And, halfway through the film, when they had met all the characters, he turned to him, lifting his head from where it was resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“If you had to pick one favourite,” he gestured to the screen. “Who would it be?”

Osamu hummed in thoughts. 

“Doctor Strange,” he finally said. “He’s a broken man that found his way back thanks to something he never thought would work. And, in the end, it became something way more precious to him than whatever he was doing before. He found something he loved more than what he thought he would do all his life. And he’s probably the strongest of them all,” Osamu explained, justifying his choice. He could relate to this character, but he wouldn’t tell Rin that. “Also, I’m sure he’s secretly a foodie. And his beard is super cool.”

Rintarou chuckled next to him, stroking his arms up and down over his baby blue hoodie.

“‘Tsumu would be Rocket, by the way. They’re the same.” he added.

Suna snorted, this time.

Yeah, Atsumu definitely was that crazy raccoon.

**“** What about you?” Osamu asked. “Who’s your favorite?”

“I think I’ll go with Iron Man,” Rintarou answered after a few seconds, lost in thoughts. 

“Why that?” Osamu pushed, curious.

“Because I think he’s the most… human out of them all. When I say human I mean like… the everyday guy.”

“Care to enlighten me?” Osamu said, softly and genuinely interested in understanding Suna’s point of view.

“I’m not saying I know everything about him or whatever it’s just…” he made a vague hand gesture and looked back at Osamu. “That’s just how I personally perceive him.”

When Osamu nodded, Rintarou started speaking again. “It’s sort of the endless question of is it the man who makes the armor or the armor who makes the man,” he mused. “You put on the armor… because you want to escape. Escape reality, escape your problems… You want a way out, one way or another. So you put on the armor.”

Osamu nodded, never able to drift his eyes away from Rintarou. The way his lips moved, the way he accompanied his words with motions of his hands. The way his eyes were focused on an invisible point somewhere in front of him. 

Osamu would never dare take his eyes away. The view was an offering from the gods, Osamu could only pray it would never come to an end.

“When you have the armor on, you feel different, stronger, because you control whatever happens. But once you step out of the armor… this feeling sorts of vanish, and you only find it again when you put the armor back on. And I think you can see it in the way he acts both in and out of the armor. In the armor it’s confidence, strength, not a single fear. 

“Out of the armor, it’s hesitation, trying to keep the mask on, trying not to let everything get to you. But, in the end, I don’t think this question really has an answer. Because the man makes the armor, but the armor makes the man all the same.”

Rintarou stopped, but just like he didn’t dare to take his eyes away, Osamu didn’t dare speak either. He heard and saw Suna take a deep breath next to him, and suddenly, his silver eyes met the sandy green color of Rintarou’s.

“And I think I can resonate with that,” he whispered. “When I have my armor on, when I go out and hide everything behind a binder and an apathetic attitude, or when the binder is replaced to something more fitting when I’m playing volleyball, I feel powerful. I don’t give a shit about anything,” his tongue darted on his lips, watering them. “But when… when I don’t or if someone sees directly through it, even if I try  _ hard  _ to not let it go to me… I fail.”

Osamu moved closer to him, their thighs were now touching. It spread an enjoyable warmth in Osamu’s leg, at the contact. He searched for Rintarou’s eyes, which had fallen on his lap when he was still talking.

“But whether you have the armor on or not, you’re still you,” Osamu said, when their eyes met again. “You’re still you, and that’s what matters. You don’t owe anything to anyone.” he tapped his index fingers on Rintarou’s chest, where he knew he was still wearing his binder underneath his pastel blue sweater. “You are you. The armor makes you, yeah. But you also make the armor. So, in the end, it’s always you.”

Osamu wished he could have encaptured the smile Rintarou offered him with his lips. But, unable to, he decided to capture it with his eyes. For his memory to remember and his eyelids to watch when he’ll close his eyes.

Suna, however, surprised him when his hand — half covered by the paw of his sweater — rested on his cheek and soft lips fell on his own.

It’s soft, probably softer than the one Osamu offered that one night in front of Rintarou’s bedroom. This time, his bottom lip isn't cut and healing, instead it’s clean and full, and Osamu can only close his eyes to get lost in the feeling of the kiss they’re sharing. 

Their lips only moved slightly against each other, but neither made a move to deepen it, content with what they were actually sharing, right now.

And if Osamu will need to call Atsumu the next day because of the thousands of questions rebounding in the corners of his head, for tonight he simply enjoyed the feeling of Rintarou against his chest while they were finishing the movie. And the hand intertwined with his own, pushing the questions away and basking in the warmth he felt in both his body and around his heart. 

  
  
  
  


Some days, Suna would begin class later than Osamu. On Fridays and Tuesdays. But, being an early riser, or because he couldn’t sleep, Osamu never really asked, Suna would wake up at the same usual hour and they would eat breakfast together. 

Those mornings were usually quiet, their hair sticking in every direction and droopy eyes until they gulped down their first coffee of the day. 

This particular morning however, Osamu was wide awake, even before his cup of coffee. He woke up before his alarm, eyes wide open with the events from the nights before. 

He had been the first to kiss Rintarou, the night after his fight at the studio. They haven’t talked about it, the subject never went up to the surface again. Even Osamu didn’t talk about it with Atsumu. Suna wasn’t acting differently after it happened, it even looked like it never happened at all. So, Osamu didn’t act differently either, and never voiced his inner turmoil. It didn’t mean he couldn’t stop thinking about it, though. Hoping it would happen again. That he could taste Suna’s lips again. 

And it did happen, last night, after watching an Avengers movie and having a heart to heart conversation about what started as a seemingly silly question. 

But now, Osamu was utterly, truly  _ lost _ . 

What was happening? What were they? Where did they stand? Why did it mean for them both?

Osamu didn’t know. Maybe he’ll need to talk to Atsumu, in the end. Or, Kita. Kita always gave great advice. 

For now, though, Osamu took in the view of a sleepy Rintarou, munching on toasts and sipping on black coffee, drowning in his oversized sweater he always sleeps in. Osamu found him  _ adorable. _ He wanted to hold him. 

He wanted to kiss him. Again. And again and again. 

Suna put his mug down and looked at him, seeming a little bit more awake. He smiled. “My little sister would like to visit, this weekend, if it’s okay with you.”

In all the years they’ve known each other, Osamu has never seen little Suna once. She lived in Aichi with Rintarou’s parents. Meanwhile, Rintarou had stayed in Hyogo, not a long time, he only really played and stayed at Inarizaki for a year; during their second year, when they lost to Karasuno, before going back to Aichi for reasons Osamu still didn’t know about to this day. Probably some family matters Osamu didn’t have any business knowing. He won’t ask anyway. The relationship with his parents wasn’t a subject Suna was particularly fond of. Even back in Hyogo. 

He talked about his little sister, though. Apparently she was really young when he was scouted, but Rintarou still tried to keep in touch with her. Now, if Osamu remembered correctly, she must be a little less than seven years old. It was the first time she visited since they started university. 

The smile Rintarou was bearing was of a rare — though Osamu liked to think it wasn’t  _ that _ rare — fondness. One Osamu only saw him bare when he was talking about his little sister. But, Osamu would like to think that maybe, just maybe, this smile was reserved for him too. 

“Of course, Rin,” Osamu answered, his voice turning into this disgusting sweet tone. Atsumu’s words. But when the smile on Rintarou’s face bloomed like a flower in spring, Osamu sent his twin brother's voice inside his head to the river and mirrored the smile of the man in front of him. How could he take this little joy from him when he was smiling like that?

Osamu couldn’t help but frown. “How are we going to organize, though? Where will she sleep?”

Rintarou put a finger on his lips to shut him up. Oh, Osamu is sure he’s blushing right now.

“She’s six, ‘Samu,” he chuckled. “She can sleep with me, it’s fine.” he took another sip of his coffee. This time, when he looked back up to Osamu, he seemed… more hesitant. “But, if you want to do something else of your weekend, then —“

“Don’t even think about finishing this sentence,” Osamu was the one to cut him off this time. “What? Spending the weekend with Atsumu?” he gagged. “Don’t you have any respect for me?”

“I respect you more than I respect him, for sure,” Rintarou answered, smugly. “Though, I need to remind you that you two are carbon copies of each other. Different, yes. But the DNA? Same old annoying.”

Osamu scoffed when Rintarou smiled against the rim of his cup of coffee. 

“I’m still the better twin,” Osamu only retorted.

Suna raises an eyebrow. “And why so? Just for your information, back when I was at Inarizaki, none of you were the better twin. You two were the absolute worst.”

Osamu grinned. “I don’t have volleyballs for brain cells, and I chose the cooking path.”

Rintarou hummed. “Okay, that’s fair,” then, he smirked at Osamu. “You’re more handsome too, Atsumu looks like a tadpole.”

If Osamu wasn’t blushing and if his heart wasn’t ready to fly out of his ribcage, he would have retorted that this argument was utter bullshit (for the indirect jab at his looks), but that he was definitely agreeing (because he was the handsome one, Atsumu looked like an uncooked noodle).

“I knew it, Sunarin,” he dramatically sighed. “You only appreciate me for my looks.”

“And the cooking,” Rintarou pointed out, shamelessly. 

Osamu scoffed, a laugh bubbling in his chest. Rintarou had this smile in the corner of his lips. A mocking, yet soft one. Osamu wanted to wipe it off his face. With his lips, pretty please.

Pretty, yeah, Suna was  _ really _ pretty. 

Yeah, he needed to talk with Atsumu. Or maybe not Atsumu, the fucker will just be a pain, maybe Kita will be more helpful and less of an asshole. Or, plotwist and Atsumu will actually be helpful for once and he won’t need to bother Kita. 

Maybe he should just go to Aran.

Suna was scrolling on his phone when he called Osamu. 

“You should go,” Rintarou said, showing him the lockscreen of his phone —— a painting Osamu didn’t know. It was ten minutes before eight, and Osamu wasn’t even dressed.

“Shit!” he scrambled out his chair, gulped the remaining of his coffee in one go and ran to the bathroom. So much for staring at Suna like a lovesick fool. A voice that sounded too much like Atsumu echoed in his head telling him that  _ yes, you are. _

Rintarou was still chuckling when Osamu slumped his bag over his shoulder messily. And, without really thinking about it, after putting his shoes on, Osamu dropped a kiss on Suna’s brown mess of hair. 

“See you later!” he called over his shoulder.

Yeah, he was in deep. Gods help him. 

  
  
  


Osamu decided to give Atsumu a call while in the safety of his bedroom. Rintarou wouldn’t be back for a few hours, his classes were finishing late. 

He didn’t warn Atsumu beforehand, so Osamu wasn’t really surprised when he heard him groan when he picked up.

“What?”

Osamu snorted. “You complain about me when you’re the one calling, but you’re no better. Selfish asshole.”

“What’s stopping me from hanging up, huh?” Atsumu challenged.

“Do it,” Osamu snickered.

Atsumu didn’t hang up. “What do you want? You have—” he was silent for half a second. “—thirty minutes, before I go to practice.”

Osamu rolled his eyes. He slumped on his bed, laying rather than sitting, and sighed deeply.

“I’m so fucked, ‘Tsumu,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Atsumu answered, clearly bored. “What? Did you fail your marketing class again? I’m soooo telling Kita-san! Oh, and Aran! I’m sure he’ll call you the next minute I tell him,” he snickered.

“I didn’t fail my marketing class, dumbass,” Osamu groaned. “It’s not about academics, I wouldn’t go to you for that.”

“Rude, ‘Samu,” his twin whined. Then, more calmly, “what is it about then?”

Osamu took a deep breath and exhaled. He cringed.

“Sunarin.” he mumbled.

There’s a pause.

“What do you mean Sunarin? What Sunarin? What did he do?” more quietly, Atsumu whispered. “Do I need to call Kita-san?”

“Stop talking about Kita-san, what the fuck? Just grow some balls and visit him some day.”

“It’s not like that!” his twin cried, Osamu rolled his eyes. “Anyway, don’t change the subject, what’s up with Sunarin?”

“We kissed,” Osamu dropped the bomb. Atsumu was too dense anyway. “Twice.”

Silence. Osamu heard him drop his spoon. Or something that sounded like cutlery. 

“Oh shit, Meian is going to kill me,” Atsumu mumbled. “What the fuck ‘Samu? Since when are you and Sunarin like that?”

Osamu chuckled humorlessly. “I wish I knew,” he straightened up. “Listen, he came back all beaten up ‘cause he got into a fight at the studio. Then he was standing in the doorway and he just looked so…” he grunted. “And it happened. It happened yesterday too, while watching Avengers.”

Atsumu whistled. “Damn, baby bro.”

“I’m not your baby bro. For all we know, it’s you. And I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu dismissed the subject. “So, what’s the matter?”

“I just told you.” Osamu deadpanned. He knew it was a bad idea.

“And where’s the problem?” Atsumu genuinely wondered. Osamu wanted to slap him. Maybe he could ask Bokuto to do it for him.

“I want to do it again. And again. All the time.”

“Just do it, then.”

“I shouldn’t have called you,” Osamu sighed, rubbing his eyes. “He’s the one who kissed me, yesterday.”

“Then it’s all good, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not!” Osamu scoffed. “It happened but… But it also didn’t change anything. He’s still acting the same, we’re still the same. And I’m just… lost?” What were they? What did all of this mean?

Atsumu heaved out a loud sigh at the other end of the phone. Then, seriously, he said: “You’re not lost, ‘Samu. You’re just gay.”

Osamu hung up. 

  
  
  


The thing about Osamu and Rintarou, in highschool when Suna was scouted by Inarizaki, they immediately clicked. They got close quickly, and maybe being in the same class and volleyball team definitely helped. Friendship bloomed, teamwork was created and Osamu felt like he finally met someone he could be as close to as he was to Atsumu, without them being a twin brother. 

Miya Osamu was lured to Suna Rintarou. Drawn in by droopy sand green eyes, dark hair and a calm and mysterious aura. Until the fruit of Osamu’s interest and curiosity, perhaps his easiest friendship, was snatched away from him.

And, by some lucky hazard, when Osamu moved to Tokyo for university, he met him again. At the door of the very same apartment he was in, right now. It hadn’t been an emotional reunion, at all. No, it had been droopy eyes seeming even more deep yet vibrant than they were almost two years ago, and a shared fox—like grin. 

Meeting Rintarou again, at the door of a small and a bit crappy university apartment, was an open door to continuation rather than a second chance. It didn’t feel like they spent a whole year without seeing each other and exchanging only a few texts over the months. It enabled and allowed Osamu to learn more about Rintarou. And he liked to think it allowed Suna to discover more about him too. 

Osamu didn’t think he'd support being separated from Rintarou again. It was different now. It wasn’t just friendship, Osamu thought he wasn’t wrong if he said they crossed that line weeks ago. Months ago, maybe. It never really struck him, how close they’ve gotten over their year and a half at university. At some point, curiosity and interest shifted to something else. He never really realized how bad he wanted to be close to Rintarou, to kiss Rintarou until he did it that night, weeks ago.

Maybe Atsumu was right in the end. He was just really gay.

  
  
  
  


Little Suna was booked to arrive at the Tokyo train station a little bit before dinner. Rintarou would go and fetch her meanwhile Osamu volunteered to prepare the food. Not really a surprise.

Osamu was curious. He never met Rintarou’s sister back in highschool nor during their little time in college. Usually, Suna would be the one doing the trip to Aichi rather than the other way around. He would always be ready to cancel his train tickets at the last minute, but the simple mention or thought of his little sister was enough to make him less moody about going back to his family for the weekend or holidays. Osamu was sure she was the cutest little bean, anyway. And a really pretty little girl, you just had to look at the older brother--he’s sure it’s running in the family.

When the door of the apartment cracked open, Osamu abandoned the pot on low fire, ready to have answers to his curiosity. 

He was right. Looks definitely ran in the family. Little Suna is a carbon copy of Big Suna. Smaller, hair a bit longer — though her brother’s was tied in a man bun so who really knew — but definitely as pretty. Osamu got it now, why Rintarou was so fond. 

“Are you the chef?” little Suna asked, curious eyes looking up at him. They were the same color as Rintarou, lacking the eyeliner. 

Osamu had to physically refrain from clenching his chest out of excessive adoration. 

“Rumi,” Suna said, amused. “Say hi first.”

She glared at her brother, Osamu wanted to laugh, Rintarou didn’t even flinch. She turned back to Osamu and bowed quickly.

“Hi, I’m Rumiko, but everyone calls me Rumi, so,” she shrugged. “Nice to meet you.”

Osamu raised a hand. “I’m Osamu, I’m the chef.” he grinned proudly.

Rumi’s eyes brightened. Oh, Osamu will  _ love _ this weekend. 

Rintarou tapped her head before she could speak. “Now, now, I see where it’s going, go put your stuff in my room. It’s the one on the left.”

Little Suna’s lips turned into a pout, but she grabbed her backpack without any further complaint.

“I’m exchanging. I give you ‘Tsumu and I keep her.” Osamu turned to Rintarou when Rumi padded to her brother’s bedroom. He would exchange Atsumu as if he was a mere pokemon if it meant to have an angel like Rumi for siblings instead.

“You wish,” Rintarou smirked. “And you haven’t seen anything. Rumiko Suna is an actual devil, don’t get fooled by her little size and shining eyes.”

So  _ that _ also runs in the family, apparently. Osamu just snorted.

“But,” Suna’s smirk softened into a smaller smile. “I think you two will get along, she’s a foodie.”

“Sweet tooth like you?” Osamu can’t help but ask.

Coughing and turning around to hide the rosy color that was slowly blooming on his cheeks, Rintarou turned back, ready to go help his sister, but turned around again to face Osamu.

“Even worse. That’s your fault, by the way.” he kissed his cheek and disappeared in the corridor. 

“I’m not even sorry.” Osamu grinned, going back into the kitchen with a little jump in his step and a probable blush on his cheeks.

  
  


Big brother Suna was definitely worth observing. Osamu didn’t know how Rintarou thought that his sister was a little devil, but, despite the fact that she was definitely running on sugar and toddler energy, Osamu found her adorable. And it’s clear that Rintarou did too, and that he was definitely happy whenever he was in her presence. It went around both ways, to be honest.

Osamu saw it in the way Rintarou’s shoulders were relaxed, free of any tension he seemed to be bearing all the time during classes. It resembled the loosened up attitude Suna held whenever he stepped foot into their shared apartment, when they were sitting next to each other on the couch, either watching TV or silently studying. His smiles were softer, less snarky even though he liked to trick and annoy her. But, mostly, they were permanent. Osamu didn’t see them falter once. His eyes, usually droopy and cunning, were bright with affection. And Osamu had to tear his gaze away whenever Rintarou looked back at him with those same eyes to physically hide his blush in the collar of his jacket. 

They were going to the park nearby, not too far from their apartment complex. There was a playground there for Rumi to play and enjoy her last day with them before going back to Aichi, and Osamu and Rintarou could sit in the grass while keeping an eye on her. Rumi was walking ahead of them, only turning back once in a while to make sure she was going in the right direction.

“You didn’t have to come you know,” Rintarou said, after directing Rumi to turn. “If you wanted to stay home.”

_ Home _ .

Osamu shook his head. “Nah, going out is nice,” after a beat, he turned his head to Suna, smirking. “Besides, I’m sure Rumi won’t say no to ice cream later on.”

“Ice cream!” she cheered.

Osamu grinned proudly while Rintarou shook his head. 

“You should treat us, just for this.”

Oh, Osamu would treat Rintarou any time.

Ugh, Atsumu really needed to shut up. 

Rumi’s train departed a bit before six in the evening, the chaperone met them on the platform. Rumi hugged her brother one last time, waved happily at Osamu — and Rintarou — then went off with the chaperone the next minute. They only left the train station when they couldn’t see Rumi wave at them from the window of the moving train anymore.

Once out, Rintarou stretched, and yawned. It made Osamu chuckle.

“Ugh, she exhausted me,” Suna breathed out.

“But you were happy to see her, yeah?” Osamu asked, softly. 

Rintarou put his hands back in the pockets of his jacket, closed his eyes and smiled.

“Yeah, I’m happy.”

Their shoulders kept touching all the way back to their apartment. 

  
  
  
  


On rare days, the PS4 Rintarou brought from his room in Aichi was brought to good use. Actually, it’s a lie, they at least play every Sunday and they watch their movies thanks to the console, but, it’s been  _ weeks _ neither of them had really settled on the couch to play and stay unmoving for hours. 

It felt great, not reading notes over and over again. To just let your mind wander to something else by playing a video game. To put your brain on off mode for a while. 

They do have two joysticks, but Osamu had declined the offer of playing the last  _ Call Of Duty _ on zombie multiplayer mode to just laze on the couch instead. Rintarou was settled under the thick blanket of the kokatsu with his back resting against the seat of the couch and with his emerald eyes never leaving the screen of the TV. 

He didn’t even move when Osamu straightened up, resting his head on one of his hands while the other was running through the dark brown strands. Suna’s hair was loose, a sight Osamu wasn’t unfamiliar with, but Rintarou usually wore it tied in a messy man bun while at home. When free, his hair was almost at the level of his shoulders. It had gotten longer.

Osamu voiced his thoughts, fingers still running in the soft strands.

“Hm?” Rintarou hummed, too focused on the game. He had a little frown on his face from getting touched by a zombie too many times in a row, but which he couldn’t eliminate like he wanted to. Osamu found him cute.

“I said, your hair is getting longer,” he repeated.

“Oh, yeah,” Rintarou acknowledged. “It’s too long, it’s starting to get in the way.”

“Are you planning on cutting it?” Osamu was massaging his head now, lightly scratching and pulling, mesmerized. 

“I’m too lazy to take an appointment.”

Osamu chuckled, continuing his little administrations. When he reached Rintarou’s forehead, he stilled.

“You’re hot,” he noticed.

“Thanks.”

Osamu flushed. “No I mean — well, yes you are it’s just — you’re warm,” he put his hand completely on his forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

“I’m fine.” Rintarou shrugged, not taking his eyes away from the game and oblivious to Osamu’s little panic, and blush.

“How many hours did you sleep last night?” he asked, serious.

“Are you sure you want the answer?”

It made Osamu sigh, yeah he didn’t want to know. He tugged on the hoodie of Rintarou’s sweater.

“C’mon, you need to rest a bit, I’ll make you tea.”

“I’m resting, right now,” Suna pointed to the game.

“You’re playing games,” Osamu rolled his eyes.

“That’s what I call resting.” finished Rintarou.

Osamu rolled his eyes once again. He continued tugging on the hoodie until Rintarou paused the game and stood up. Emerald eyes settled on silvers and Suna was the one patting his knee this time.

“Get up, I’ll rest on the couch.”

“Wow, thanks.”

But, Osamu got up anyway, only to be pulled back down a second later once Rintarou was laying down.

“What?”

Suna was under him, as Osamu was laying on top of him, wedged between the backrest and Rintarou’s side. His head was resting on the crook of his neck, his nose touching the warm skin protecting Rintarou’s jugular. Osamu felt an arm snaking around his shoulders and upper back and resting there. The joystick entered his peripheral vision when Rintarou settled more comfortably. Osamu could only lay his free arm on the other’s stomach, lowkey awkwardly.

“Gaming is resting,” Rintarou only said. “Laying down is cool and you’re warm so it’s great.”

Osamu huffed, breath crashing on pale burning skin. 

“You should sleep, not game.” he fought in vain. 

“I’ll sleep when I get tired from playing.”

He knew Rintarou’s words were final when he felt his cheek bump the top of his head and it rested here. Osamu sighed but didn’t fight it.

And, if he had to be honest, it was nice, being so close to Suna, being held, for a change. He could feel his own sleepiness starting to kick in, the up and down of Rintarou’s chest were soothing. It lulled him to close his eyes and sleep.

He buried his nose deeper against the junction of Rintarou’s neck and collarbone. “You better sleep a bit when you’re done with the mission.”

“I’m trying to beat my record on zombie mode,” but Osamu felt lips on his hair. 

“Mine is twenty rounds.” he mumbled.

When Rintarou intertwined their legs together and brought him impossibly closer — or so Osamu felt like it was the case, maybe he was already dreaming — Osamu dropped a series of kisses where his lips met Rintarou’s neck. 

  
  
  
  
  


Osamu woke up to a vibrant pink note on the fridge. It hurt his eyes, so early to be blinded. He recognized Rintarou’s handwriting.

_ Practice will probably run late today, we’re playing against one of the neighboring universities.  _

_ Don’t miss your 8:30am this time <3 _

He chuckled at the jab of the one morning he woke up too late after spending a night watching videos on his phone — he won’t tell what kind of videos, he got lost in the depths of YouTube — and had to send a mail to his teacher to excuse himself from not attending, creating an almost perfect excuse. He didn’t know if his teacher bought it, but the only thing he was sure of is that if he didn’t want to be cancelled in passing this class, he couldn’t miss anymore. 

Obligatory classes are the  _ worst _ . 

When Rintarou came back, a little bit before seven in the evening, he hadn’t even dropped his gym bag on the floor before he was already searching for Osamu.

“Guess who I played against,” he called out, and when he came into view, Osamu saw he was smirking.

Osamu quickly forgot about his marketing notes on the kokatsu. 

“One of the neighboring universities?” he asked, matter-of-factly. 

Rintarou lifted up a finger, like a man who was trying to sell you a product on the market because  _ it’s the one you need and not any other. _

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he revealed.

Osamu’s eyes widened. “Sakusa as in Itachiyama Sakusa? Top high school ace?” Sakusa Kiyoomi that beat their ass in their first year and third year at Nationals? Dark times. Not as dark as getting beaten by Karasuno in the first round, though.

Maybe they didn’t need memories of that. 

Rintarou nodded. “That one.”

Osamu whistled. “Damn, he didn’t go pro yet?” he remembered vaguely reading something about it, or maybe it’s Atsumu who complained about it to him, he didn’t remember.

“Nah,” Rintarou shrugged his gym bag off and settled under the kokatsu, on Osamu’s left. “He told me he wanted to experience university first. Wanted to have baggage, just in case, you know?”

“Told you?”

“Yeah, we went for coffee before they had to go back.”

Oh _. _

He went for coffee with Sakusa? 

What was that sudden peak of rising anger he felt bubbling in his chest? It’s just like when Atsumu nicked his stuff and food back in highschool but yet, it was different. It wasn’t pure anger it was more like… a really annoying feeling that stings at his heart. 

Osamu felt a finger pressing the space between his eyebrows. And Rintarou’s eyes looking at him curiously.

“What’s with the frown?” and then, before Osamu could even realize he was frowning in the first place, he smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

_ Oh. _

So that’s… what it was.

Was he?

“I’m not jealous,”

“You are,” Rintarou kept grinning and pressed his finger against his frown again. “You literally are.”

Osamu could only groan and decided to busy himself with the diagrams on his notes. He didn’t read a single entry, though.

“Did you have fun?” he grumbled.

“Yeah that was cool, he’s pretty nice actually. Sort of reassuring to know he’s only human just like the rest of us,” he chuckled. 

Osamu refrained himself from saying that it wasn’t true. Sakusa was a monster. Just like Atsumu. Rintarou was one too. They were all monsters.

Maybe Osamu was one too, once upon a time.

“We even exchanged numbers, might organize some games that way,” Rintarou added, unaware of Osamu’s little monologue. “You think Atsumu will scream if I tell him I’m making friends with a former enemy?”

_ Maybe he will, but maybe I will as well. _

“He’s been trying to make friends with Sakusa since forever, you should definitely tell him.” Osamu said, instead. He didn’t look at the other and made his pen twist on his fingers. So, what was that graphic about, hm?

Rintarou snickered, getting out of the kokatsu and fishing his abandoned gym bag and probably heading to take a shower. He stopped at Osamu’s side. Osamu could only lift his head up, way too aware of Suna’s gaze on him. Rintarou bent down, and Osamu only had time to register the hand on his cheek before lips softly landed on his.

It was gone almost as fast as it came. Or perhaps Osamu’s brain just freezed and was unable to reconnect.

Rintarou pinched the cheek he was holding and started walking again like nothing happened. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Osamu could only whine at the back of his throat and banged his head on the kokatsu. 

  
  
  
  
  


A few weeks later, Osamu couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. He needed a third party. And as much as he hated having to go to Atsumu for that, it was still his logical choice. He loved all the others, but if having a twin had a point, then it was for Atsumu to pick on his brother’s crisis without Osamu needing to spit all the details.

“What’s up again?” Atsumu asked first without proper greetings. How rude. But at least Osamu could go straight to the point.

He sighed, longly. “I am so fucking confused it’s not even funny.”

“Oh damn,” Atsumu whispered. “You really are going through it.”

Osamu physically cringed at what he was about to ask. “How do you know you drew the line between flirting and actually dating?”

Atsumu was silent for long seconds.  _ Very long seconds _ .

Until he bursted out laughing and it took all Osamu’s willpower not to hang up and charge him for a new eardrum.

“I can’t —” Atsumu wheezed loudly. “I can’t believe you’re actually asking me that when you guys have literally been flirting since high school.”

“Trust me I would have prefered to avoid it.” Osamu rolled his eyes. He sighed.

Atsumu was still wheezing when he answered. “Trust me, you definitely crossed the flirting line when you had that make out session last time when he got into a fight.”

“It was  _ not _ a make out session!” and it really wasn’t.

“Okay, then that time you got jealous when he went for coffee with Sakusa,” Atsumu recounted.

“How do you even know that?” Osamu hissed.

“Sunarin told me, duh,” Atsumu deadpanned. “By the way, how dare  _ he _ make friends with Omi-kun when I’ve been trying for  _ years _ !”

“If I was Sakusa I would definitely befriend Suna rather than you,” Osamu supplied. 

“You little—” Atsumu sighed. “You’re all killing me.”

“Die in silence.”

“Go ask Sunarin out before I do it.”

“What the fuck?!”

“What’s even stopping you?” Atsumu seriously asked. 

“I don’t even know where we stand,” said Osamu. “We kiss and we cuddle and we have breakfast together in the mornings even when one has classes later than the other… That means we’re dating right? But, like, he never said anything about it so I didn’t either, but it also means I don't know where we’re standing but it definitely feels like we’re dating so — so that means that technically we’re dating?” he let everything out in one breath.

“Disgusting. I can’t believe I’m the one who has to say this to you,” Atsumu groaned. “Fucking talk to him ‘Samu.”

“But what if it’s all a misunderstatement?”

“Then I’ll call you both worldwide fucking idiots and write it on your graves.” 

  
  
  
  


They were in the middle of a multi play on Call Of Duty Zombie mode, Osamu was waiting for Rintarou to save him when the other talked, although his eyes were fixed on killing the zombies in front of him. Osamu was trying to help the best he could.

“We don’t really talk about it, but, do you have dreams?” Rintarou asked. “Like, you didn’t go pro when you could definitely have, what dream is leading you?”

Osamu didn’t expect the question, he paused on trying to get some zombies down to stop and think. By the time he realized what the question was, his character had died.

Oh.

Well, the question was easy.

“I want to open a restaurant,” he said easily. “Onigiri.” he smiled. 

Rintarou chuckled, sweetly. “Why doesn’t it surprise me,” he groaned a little. “Fucking bastards.” he mumbled when “game over” appeared on screen. “You want to do another one?”

“Sure!” Osamu agreed.

He didn’t push it. Rintarou would talk to him if he wanted to. Osamu was curious, yes. Even back in high school when they were discussing their potential dreams as seventeen years olds, Rintarou never really gave away what was his. He simply shrugged and said “Don’t know, don’t mind.” But, even if Osamu was  _ really  _ curious, that didn’t mean he would make Rintarou uncomfortable by being a nosy bitch. That was Atsumu, who didn’t know boundaries when he really wanted something.

It took the first wave of zombies to pass for Rintarou to speak again. “I really love volleyball, you know?”

Osamu glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “I’m sure you do. You wouldn’t have continued in college otherwise, right?”

Rintarou hummed. “Yeah,” he said. “But I… I really  _ love  _ it. I want to keep playing.”

“Then keep playing, Rin.” Osamu said, softly. 

He scoffed. It lacked bite. “Easier said than done when you legally don’t exist as the person you want to be, the person  _ you are _ really. I want to keep playing, I knew I wanted to keep playing even in highschool but… I also felt like I could drop it completely if it ever…”

“Went wrong?”

“Yeah.” The third wave of zombies came. “I would be fine even if I can’t play anymore, with a bitter taste, but… I  _ really love _ volleyball and I don’t want to stop when university is over. When I see Atsumu, Aran, even Sakusa… I’m thinking that… That I want to go on the right path. It would be fucking hard but, I want to dream a bit bigger, too.” Rintarou looked at him. “I’d like to play in Division 1.”

Osamu snatched his eyes away from the game to look at him instead. He smiled.

“Then go for it,” he said sincerely. “Go for it and don’t stop, Rin.”

  
  
  


Osamu didn’t really know what he was feeling. He was, for sure, incredibly happy and couldn’t stop smiling as he kept rereading the mail he received during lunch break.

But… At the same time, it all had a bitter feeling. Mostly when sandy green eyes kept appearing in his mind above the  _ Confirmation Form _ written in the mail’s object.

He didn’t know why. Or rather,  _ what _ . Was it the fact he didn’t tell anything sooner or… because he’s  _ scared _ .

Since that one night Osamu kissed Rintarou in front of his bedroom door, months ago, they never defined what  _ this _ was. What they were. They kissed, they cuddled. Hell, Osamu even got jealous of  _ the  _ Sakusa Kiyoomi only for this to be heavenly kissed away by Rintarou, and assured that the two of them were just friendly acquaintances. 

So, what if Osamu was  _ actually _ scared that this upcoming year abroad will mark a  _ definite  _ change in his and Suna’s… whatever they were.

Yeah, Osamu’s scared. Scared of what it meant. Scared of all the unsaids surrounding them but never able to bring them out.

And when he got home and Rintarou pecked him on the lips as he was passing by to get another coffee in the kitchen, Osamu didn’t know what to do about it.

“What’s this?” Rintarou asked, when Osamu pulled the newly printed sheet out of the printer. They were in Osamu’s room. Rintarou was scrolling on his phone, laying on Osamu’s bed with his head practically upside down.

Osamu had to refrain from gulping and reminded himself to breathe. Well… No point in lying, right?

Rintarou had moved from his position on the bed to stand behind where Osamu was standing in front of the printer instead, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head on his shoulder. 

“You might not know but,” Osamu rubbed the back of his neck, a copy of the e-mail he got from one of his professors clenched in one hand. “Business students have an obligatory year of studying abroad. It’s a compulsive element in our program,” he wriggled the paper. “That’s my confirmation email, I need it printed for my file.” he turned his head to look at the other, slowly.

Rintarou was silent next to him. He nodded faintly but Osamu could see his eyes staring at the paper in his hand, probably trying to burn it with the simple force of his stare. 

“Where are you going?” he eventually asked, voice not above a whisper. It made Osamu clenched the paper harder in his head, almost crumbling it.

“France.”

The crestfallen expression that took place on Suna’s face once he uttered the words made his heart constrict and break in his ribcage.

The smile Rintarou offered him was wobbly. “That’s great, ‘Samu. I’m happy for you.”

_ Then, why do you look so sad? _

  
  
  
  


Osamu was set to leave at the end of the summer, so he could start his year abroad at the same time as French students and not enter in the middle of a semester. 

The last of the year passed like a blur. Osamu didn’t know if it was because of his upcoming departure that he felt like it or because… because time really went fast. 

He felt like he couldn’t enjoy his last moments in Japan like he planned to. He felt like he didn’t manage to go back to Hyogo even once, nor to see Atsumu (not that it was a particular loss, for that matter). 

He felt like he hadn’t been able to enjoy his last moments at home, with Suna. That there was some lingering tension in the air, that prevented him from doing so. They didn’t particularly change, they still kissed, they still cuddled, like they would do all the time since  _ that  _ night. Even though they never defined what  _ this _ was. 

Osamu tried to make the most of it… despite the bitter feeling at the back of his throat. And the creeping feeling trying to swallow his bones, because he couldn’t help but think that  _ something _ broke the day he told Rintarou he had to go away for the next school year. He really hoped it was only a feeling, and not a reality. But, Rintarou was awfully quiet about it.

On the day of his departure, they have been silent all the way from the apartment to the airport. The only thing that had broken the unmistaken tension between them had been the hand Rintarou had kept on Osamu’s thigh throughout the whole ride. He had put his hand above Suna’s too, linking their fingers. 

But they never talked. Neither did they when Osamu went to register and give his suitcase. He had asked Rintarou if he wanted to grab a coffee, to which the other had simply shook his head and looked down at his feet. Osamu’s heart had broken a little bit more. 

Would it even matter, if he spoke now?

Osamu’s flight has already been called once. They hadn’t moved immediately. Osamu because he didn’t want to seem eager to leave, and because maybe he waited for Rintarou to say something. And Rintarou… probably because he was waiting for Osamu to say something, too. 

But neither of them did. They simply got up at the same time and walked to the boarding door basked in a tensed silence. 

People were already in a queue, presenting their tickets. Rintarou couldn’t go further after that. 

Osamu fiddled with the straps of the backpack he was taking with him inside the plane. He turned around, and faced Rintarou. 

Rintarou was also looking at him, looking too small in his oversized sweater. 

They didn’t move at first. Osamu didn’t know which one of them leaned in first, but the next thing he felt was a body slamming against his and arms tightening around his shoulders. 

It all broke loose starting then. Osamu wasn’t particularly the crier type — that was Atsumu — but he could feel the burning of the tears behind his eyes, which he bit his lips to hold back as he buried his face in Rintarou’s collar. 

He felt the body he was holding trembling in his arms. Rintarou only tightened his grip and Osamu could only do much. 

When he pulled away and lost himself in emeralds, there were so many things he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to do. Tear the sadness away from Rintarou’s eyes, kiss him until his lips go numb and it’ll be the only thing he’ll be able to taste for the next days, months, for the next year.

But the only thing he could say was: “I’ll text you. Every day until you get tired of me.” he meant it as a joke but it came out more wobbly than humorous. 

It still made Suna smile, though. Tiny, but it was there. 

“Yeah, you better.”

The last warning before the imminent departure resonated around them, and when Osamu looked behind him, he noticed he was the last passenger. He turned back to Suna.

Rintarou’s smile stretched, softly, but his eyes were still full of sadness. “Go.”

Osamu mirrored his smile, and, ever so softly, grabbed his head between his hands and kissed his forehead. His lips lingered and he closed his eyes, hoping he could get an unspoken message across, devoid of words. 

He wished that when Rintarou smiled at him one last time, truthfully and a bit brighter, that Rintarou understood. 

  
  
  
  


Osamu totally and  _ undoubtedly _ blamed the jetlag for sending  _ i already miss you _ on WhatsApp in what he thought was his and Suna’s conversation. 

Except that, the top text wasn’t the last one he shared with Rintarou, but a text from his ungrateful shitty copy of a twin, who didn’t even bother to say goodbye by coming at the airport. Not that it mattered anyway, Osamu was glad he won’t have to see — more like hear — his brother for the next year.

And if  _ ever; if ever _ he missed him, then Atsumu was completely mistaken.  _ Nique sa mère _ as the French youth apparently said. (He didn’t know what it meant, maybe he should refrain from using it on a daily basis and in a social setting.)

That didn’t stop him from thinking it really loud in his mind when Atsumu’s face popped on his screen. It was seven in the morning in France, meaning it was three in the afternoon in Japan… wasn’t the fucker supposed to be at practice? 

“What?” Osamu groaned. It was way too early and he didn’t sleep enough in the plane. And he still had a five hours bus ride to get to Strasbourg, he wasn’t  _ rested _ enough to deal with his too loud twin.

“So you tell me you miss me but when I call you just groan? Rude.”

That’s when it clicked in Osamu’s head. 

“That wasn’t meant for you.”

“No shit,” he didn’t see him but he knew Atsumu had just rolled his eyes right now. “Was it for Sunarin?”

“It was for mom,” Osamu yawned. He should text her to say he got the airport safely, by the way.

“Sure,” said Atsumu. “How was the flight?”

“Long. Didn’t sleep much. Food was meh.”

“What did you expect?” Atsumu laughed. “You’re in Paris now, right? You should visit a bit.”

“Can’t, I’m waiting for my bus,” and crushing his little French vocabulary book in his pocket. “I’m starving though, I should grab one of these famous French pastries.”

“Gwa...qwa… The half moons thingy,” Atsumu gave up.

“Croissant.”

“Yeah, that, never knew how to pronounce it,” Atsumu mumbled. “Yeah, get that and don’t miss your bus. When will you get in  _ Sutoras ——  _ What’s the name already?”

“Strasbourg,” Osamu with near perfect French pronunciation. 

“Oui, oui.”

He rolled his eyes. “You just have to think about  _ strasse _ and  _ buch _ in German, for the pronunciation.”

“Do I look like I speak German?”

“Nah,” Osamu agreed. “You’re stupid.”

Atsumu scoffed but didn’t counter back. Osamu counted this as a win. Though, it wasn’t usual for his twin to not retort at any given occasion. It made Osamu raise an eyebrow.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Atsumu quickly said. He uttered the last words like it pained him to do so, but Osamu knew better than getting fooled by Atsumu’s fake nonchalance. “Call anytime if you need, ‘kay?”

Osamu hummed, seeing his bus coming closer. He smiled. “Aren’t you the one missing me, huh?”

“Shut yer trap.”

  
  
  
  


Osamu didn’t see the first week of his stay abroad pass.

Well, actually, that’s a lie. It was fucking  _ hell _ . Or,  _ c’était la merde _ in French. He really needed to stop learning the curses first and to focus on the useful vocabulary instead.

For now, he was residing with a French student from the university he would spend his exchange year in. His name was Léo and Osamu was actually grateful for him because Léo spoke English  _ fluently _ . Thank gods. Osamu will move to a single dorm later in the semester, there were some mistakes on the school part when he sent his files and he almost got no dorm room  _ at all _ . When asked, Léo had immediately accepted to take him in his 2-person apartment until they found him a proper room. Osamu owed him  _ big _ .

He almost cried out of exhaustion and stress when they told him  _ — _ in broken English — that he wasn’t assigned to a room and that there had been problems with his file. His teacher, responsible for the exchange programs, had called him in emergency to ask if everything was okay and Osamu had almost cried his eyes out in the corner of the university hallway. 

That, plus getting settled in Léo’s apartment, plus getting everything ready for the school year awaiting for him — it was, by the way, really weird to him to start the year in  _ September _ , but he wasn’t complaining — Osamu barely had time to check his phone. His mom had called him the first night, and if he almost cried like a child again just by hearing his mother’s reassuring words, then he had valid reasons to do so. It was overwhelming. 

Atsumu texted him a few times but Osamu hadn’t had time to answer him properly, yet. He had texts from Ginjima, Aran and Kita he hadn't opened yet. One from Akagi too, who was also in Europe. And, at the top of the conversations, the most recent, a text from Rintarou saying ‘ _ I hope you’re doing okay _ ’.

_No, I’m not, everything was so shitty already I don’t know what to do and fuck I miss you_ _I’m so sorry I didn’t text once._

Osamu  _ really _ wanted to answer the texts, but when he caught a glimpse of the previews, all hoping he was doing okay, Osamu wanted to scream. 

No. No, he was not doing okay. Everything was overwhelming, he was exhausted and he missed home already and he didn’t know what to expect of the upcoming year and everything familiar wasn’t next to him anymore and —

He threw his phone at the other end of the bed and curled against the covers, tossing and turning. It was soon to be one in the afternoon, he could take a nap, but it seemed like it was impossible. So, in the hopes of getting a small sense of familiarity despite the distance separating him from his home country, he got up and padded to the kitchen. Léo was in it too, scrolling on his phone and munching on cookies. He looked up at him and smiled. Osamu’s must have looked rather ugly because the other gave him an understanding smile.

“Do you mind if I cook something?” Osamu asked.

“Sure, go on.” Léo waved to the kitchen counter. 

Cooking. Cooking was good. 

  
  
  
  


Cooking definitely helped. Léo’s fridge wasn’t the most stuffed fridge, but he made it work with what he had. They’ll have leftovers for the next two days… almost. Maybe three. And his roommate was having a delight tasting what Osamu made, so it definitely made him feel better.

So, feeling lighter and more appeased than a few hours ago, he fetched his phone he had thrown on the bed and opened the WhatsApp application. He answered Kita and Aran’s texts first, considered leaving Atsumu on read but sent him a poorly taken selfie with the caption “still not dead bitch” and moved to his and Rintarou’s texts. He winced a little when he saw the message was from two days ago. He was feeling guilty, a bit. 

He first typed a text. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again. Groaned in frustration. 

What time was it? Three in the afternoon… So it was midnight in Japan. He grimaced. But, from experience, Suna was probably awake. And it was a Friday, so it was more likely. 

Osamu pressed the video call button at the corner of the screen.

The seconds while he waited were long. Really long. It seemed endless. And, just when Osamu was about to let go, a familiar face popped up on the screen. 

A face he missed seeing so much it brought tears to his eyes. And when Rintarou smiled at him, all pixely but still here, on the other end of the screen, Osamu felt the flood incoming.

“Hey,” he croaked out.

“Hey,” Rintarou repeated, gently. His smile dropped. “What’s wrong?”

Osamu couldn’t stop the river of tears pooling out of his eyes at the same time he sniffled like a kid who got his candy stolen. But he missed  _ Rintarou _ , he missed the familiarity that went with speaking with someone you’re used to seeing everyday. He felt guilty for going radio silent when he knew people were waiting for him and ready to answer any call he needed to make.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. Suna could surely only see his hair and not his face, but Osamu was too busy trying to wipe the tears away to care. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he repeated like a mantra. “I didn’t want to avoid you but everything was so shitty and mind-boggling I didn’t know I — I miss you but everything is just overwhelming and — I’m sorry —”

“Hey, Osamu,” Rintarou cut him off. “Breathe, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re here. Breathe.”

Osamu took in a shaky breath, more tears falling out of his eyes. He still didn’t look up.

“You’re okay,” Rintarou repeated. “It’s okay, you’re here now, and I’m glad you are. You’re okay. Can you look at me? See, you’re here, we can talk it out if you want, and we don’t have to if you don’t want. Everything’s okay.”

Osamu surely looked like a mess, right now. And really, he was one. But Suna’s eyes never left him through the screen, soft and gentle, and he could feel the panic that had built up in his ribcage slowly falter, leaving him with occasional hiccups and red eyes.

“I missed you,” he said, pathetically.

“I missed you too,” Rintarou smiled, albeit sadly. “But I understand. And you’re here now.”

“I’m here now,” Osamu paroted in a whisper.

“You’re here now.”

  
  
  
  


A new routine came out of the phone call they had on that day. They settled on — besides the text messages they might send each other throughout the day — doing weekly video calls. Skype was a marvelous invention, and the wifi in Léo’s apartment wasn’t that bad, so Osamu didn’t encounter any particular problems as of now. 

They didn’t have any defined ways of spending their moments during those times of the day — mostly night for Suna in Japan and afternoon for Osamu. They chose to call on weekends rather than during the week because of their mutual classes, and because Osamu had late classes on Fridays. And weekends were easier anyway. 

Sometimes they watched movies, or did homework together. They would talk. They would talk  _ a lot _ like they weren’t thousands of kilometers apart but still in the same room. Rintarou would tell him about his classes and the dozens of assignments he had to do — Osamu even felt guilty to keep him on call when he could be working more efficiently without Osamu speaking to him through a screen — he would tell him about practice and how he would meet sometimes with Sakusa. Osamu would tell him the same, how his classes were doing — and how glad he was for taking advanced english classes — how he was going to  _ finally _ get the room he was supposed to have since his first day in university.

Osamu would leave unsaid how often he still missed home, even though sometimes it would slip away before he could control it. 

“I’m meeting with Kiyoomi on Saturday afternoon, next week,” Rintarou told him, one day. “He told me his cousin; you remember Komori, right?”

“How to forget him?” Osamu groaned. Sometimes he still had visions of how perfectly Komori could dig their serves and spikes.

Rintarou chuckled. “He plays for EJP Raijin, in Division 1, Kiyoomi told me he has a day off that day. He invited him — or maybe he invited himself, apparently,” he shrugged.

“That’s great, no?” asked Osamu. “Maybe you could talk to him about Division 1 and all.” he suggested.

Rintarou hummed but didn’t answer. Osamu glanced at him and saw he was scrolling on his phone, paintbrush forgotten in between his fingers.

“You’ve been checking EJP, haven’t you?” he asked again.

“Yeah, checking,” Suna shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I’m necessarily interested.”

Osamu rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was fond of this idiot. 

“‘Cause you check things you’re not interested in, you?”

“It’s documentation, knowledge.” he made a vague hand gesture but never took his eyes off his phone.

“You’re interested in EJP.” Osamu teased, with finality, plopping his head on his pillow.

Rintarou sighed but Osamu heard the small chuckle leaving his lips when he murmured a “shut it”, directed at him. It made Osamu’s smile widened.

“I’m proud of you.” he said.

“Cheesy.”

  
  
  


“Are you coming back for the holidays?” Suna asked, at the beginning of December.

Osamu smiled. Sad. “I’d like to,” he sighed. “But I can’t afford it.”

“Will you be alright?” Rintarou inquired, a light worry attached to his words and features.

Osamu nodded. “Yeah, it’ll be okay, don’t worry. Léo’s staying there too with his girlfriend, he proposed we do something over Christmas and New Year. It won’t be like usual but,” he shrugged. He looked back at Rintarou and smiled. “Sure I would have liked to spend it at home, see mom, dad and granny again. Spend time with you too. But, I can’t. And it’s okay,” he was quick to add. “Strasbourg’s known for the Christmas market and cool things to do, I’ll take advantage of the season and my free time to visit.” 

“Meaning you’ll go around to test all of the traditional food the city has to offer, right?” Rintarou teased, a smirk at the edge of his lips.

Osamu raised a hand. “You got me there.”

They both chuckled. 

Eventually, Osamu spoke again.

“What about you? Where are you spending the holidays?”

Suna heaved out a long sigh and bent closer to the screen of his computer. 

“Going back to Aichi, at least for Christmas,” he said. “I do it for Rumi, she asked for me to be here. I think… seeing her will make it okay. I hope.”

“You know you can spend it at home if you want,” Osamu said softly. “Atsumu would be glad to bug you and mom and granny love you.”

“You won’t be here, it won’t be the same.” Rintarou said, sincerely.

Osamu’s ribcage constricted but it also filled with warmth. 

“I’ll call you,” he decided, and smiled proudly at the confusion on Suna’s face. “On Christmas Eve — well, in Japan — I’ll call you.”

“Are you suggesting we spend Christmas together?” Rintarou grinned, but, if Osamu wasn’t mistaken, there was a blush creeping on his cheeks.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

In the end, Osamu ended up vlogging his food and Christmas market adventures. They called on Christmas Eve, Rumi stuck to Rintarou’s side throughout most part of the call until she had to go to sleep. For the two consecutive Christmas celebrations days, they spend them watching movies — Christmas themed — until each passed out from tiredness in the respective time zones they were in.

They might have not been physically next to each other, but Osamu definitely considered it as the best Christmas he’s had so far.

  
  
  
  


Osamu was going to do something.

Something completely impulsive and absolutely not thinked about. 

He’s going to absolutely  _ love  _ it.

His mom… maybe a bit less.

  
  


“You got a tattoo?!” Atsumu screamed in his ears, through the phone, not even five minutes after Osamu posted a picture on his Instagram profile. “Of a  _ qwacksan  _ ‘Samu, really?!”

“First of all, shut your trap. Second of all, it’s minimalist and it’s cute, mind you. It’s near my elbow anyway and it’s a good way to mark the occasion. Third, did I ask?” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “And it’s  _ croissant _ , ‘Tsumu. Oh, I got my ears pierced too.”

“France changed you, what did France do to you?” Atsumu mumbled.

“Dramatic ass.”

(Rintarou loved the results of Osamu’s one-second-reflection-decision. We don’t need your opinion, Atsumu)

  
  
  


By the time March came, Osamu was entering his last semester abroad, while Rintarou was ready to enter his last year of university. Osamu’s last year would only start after his last semester abroad. He’ll start class again at the end of August, just like all japanese students coming back from the summer holidays. Him and Suna would graduate in March of the next year.

Four years of university… Somehow, he felt like it had gone by faster than highschool. At the same moment, the next year, he would graduate and start his life on the work field, and so until he retired.

Sometimes, he still couldn’t grasp it. He wondered what was ahead for him. How his plans and dreams would go. How he’ll do.

… What he and Rintarou would become. What was in store for them?

If being abroad for a year made Osamu realize something, it was definitely this—he was, utterly, truly, madly, deeply in love with Suna Rintarou. (A voice that sounded weirdly like Atsumu’s was screaming  _ fucking finally, dipshit _ ! inside his head.  _ Putain. _ )

He couldn’t get enough. He needed more of him. He craved to touch him again, to hug him again. To  _ finally _ kiss him again.

And to get answers for his questions.

But, for now and until he came back home, he needed to settle on seeing the other man through a screen, and to be  _ patient _ .

“Oh, did I tell you about that  _ Baeckeoffe  _ dish?” Osamu brightened up. 

“You didn’t but I’m sure you will.” Rintarou grinned on his screen. A bit pixely, but Osamu couldn’t perfectly remember it in high resolution from memory.

“Okay. So, it’s that dish where they mix three marinated meats with potatoes. Long cooking in the oven,” he explained. He looked at Rintarou pointedly. “Rin, that’s fucking heavenly.  _ La vierge Marie en slip de velours." _

“I’ll ignore that last part because I didn’t understand shit,” Suna chuckled. “But, sounds good yeah. You find everything good, anyway.”

“Yeah but that’s… another level good!”

Rintarou hummed on the other side of the screen, scribbling something on his notes, rectangular glasses falling down on the bridge of his nose. Osamu wished he could see and push them back up in real life and not through a screen. It was a rare sight. He wanted to take a screenshot, but decided against it and snapped a quick picture on his phone instead. Boom, private Instagram story. 

“What about you?” he asked once his phone was thrown across his bed. “Are you eating well? Please tell me you are, I don’t have enough money to take a plane back, yet.” But that didn’t mean he won’t. 

“I didn’t cut my ramen diet just because you’re not here,” Rintarou grinned, not looking at him.

“Rin…” Osamu started, ready to scold him, but Suna cut him off before he could.

“But, I’ve actually been putting my limited cooking skills to use,” he said, proudly, looking back up at him. “I didn’t burn the kitchen yet.”

“Impressive.”

Rintarou flipped him the bird. “Otherwise I eat with Gin. Sakusa too, though it’s rarer,” he made a humming sound, looking to his side, somewhere on his desk. “Oh, I got this letter from EJP Raijin I haven’t opened yet. Speaking about Kiyoomi, we’re playing against them again soon. Hopefully we kick their asses this time.”

“Wait,” Osamu answered after a second. “Go back. What did you say?”

Rintarou frowned, and pursed his lips in confusion. “We’re playing against Kiyoomi’s team soon?”

“No, no, before that, what did you say?”

He looked to the side again. “I… got this letter from EJP Raijin,” he picked it up. “I didn’t open it yet.”

Osamu could feel his eyes widening; he brought his laptop closer to his face. “What are you waiting for! Open it!” he said, excitedly.

Rintarou only shrugged, hesitant. “It’s not like they’ll be interested or something,” he mumbled, tearing the paper out. “Must be some kind of error or whatever.”

It made Osamu roll his eyes and want to slap some sense into him at the same time. “Rin, I’ll shut you up myself if I could, but sadly I’m not here,” he sighed, dropping the scolding face when Rintarou lifted insecure eyes on him. “You’re one of the best players I know and that there is out there. Stop thinking you don’t deserve it. Because you do, okay?”

Suna’s lip only twitched, but Osamu could tell he was a bit less hesitant about it. A dark veil still glinted in his eyes. “That’s not really about the play I’m afraid.”

Ah, Osamu got it. Added to his insecurities about his worth as a player, Rintarou’s insecurities about his identity to others. For Rintarou, it was his pride that shaped him. For others, it might be a burden, and a perfect excuse to crush his dreams. 

“There’s a lot of assholes in the world, Rin,” Osamu said. It made Rintarou stare at him. “But I like to believe that if they sent you this letter, it’s because they’re interested in you as a player, but also interested in  _ you _ and everything you represent and carry. In everything you are that makes you  _ you _ ,” he pointed to the folded paper in Suna’s hands. “Now, open this and prove me I’m right.” Osamu grinned.

The sound of a letter being open is what followed his last words. 

The next seconds were spent in silence as Suna read the printed words. And since Osamu wasn’t next to him and couldn’t lean over his shoulders to read as well, he was in the front row to observe the changes on his face. The way Rintarou’s eyes slightly widened the more he kept reading, how his lips were stretching in an almost imperceptible smile and the way his shoulders gradually relaxed.

Osamu couldn’t help the megawatt smile creeping on his face when Suna lowered the letter — though he still wasn’t looking at him — and whispered. “They want me to do the tryouts, but they’re basically offering me a place in the team, effective as soon as I graduate.”

When their eyes met again, Rintarou was smiling softly, more confident, relieved. And Osamu kind of wished he was there with him, so he could pepper his face with kisses and murmur in his ear how worthy he was, how proud he could be of himself and how proud Osamu was of him. 

How much he meant to him, would be left unsaid, for now.

“I’m so proud of you, Rin.” he whispered, instead, craving to cup his cheeks and kiss him. 

  
  
  


No matter what country you’re in, end of the year exams are  _ a bitch.  _ At least, Osamu would have the whole summer to recharge. Rintarou… well not really. But, Rintarou, in the name of Osamu’s moral support, decided to study in advance for exams.

And, considering Rintaoru studied last minute (and managed to nail it all), it meant a lot. Even though his exams consisted of more assignments than actual exams, but still.

At least it was more time Osamu could spend with him. Even if it was through a screen.

“When are your exams?” Rintarou asked at the same time Osamu saw him sketch something in his notebook. 

“Middle to end of July,” Osamu answered, bringing his gaze back on his notes. “Then I take the plane back to Japan.”

Rintarou hummed. “Do you come back home?”

_ Home _ …

Home was two places, to Osamu. It was his childhood house in Hyogo, filled with his and Atsumu’s laughter and their granny’s cooking. It was also his shared university apartment in Tokyo, filled with the noises of the coffee machine at seven in the morning and the scent of paint. 

But to Osamu, home also became someone. Home became sand—green eyes, dark brown hair tied in a manbun and smudges of paint on defined cheekbones. Home became lips on his, tasting like coffee and mint gum. Home became arms wrapped around him and the feeling of a chest against his back, hidden in the fabric of an oversized hoodie.

Home, to Osamu, became Rintarou. 

“I’ll go back to Hyogo for a bit, since I wasn’t able to go before I left,” Osamu answered. Rintarou looked at him, sketching on hold. “But after that,” Osamu smiled at him. “I’m coming home.”

  
  


(“Your hair is getting longer, isn’t it?” Osamu asked, seconds before having to end their call. “I thought you said you’ll cut it?”

“I said  _ maybe _ ,” Rintarou rolled his eyes. “But, yeah, I’ll cut it a bit, it’s becoming a bird’s nest up there. Oh, by the way, my hair might be shit right now but look,” the next second, Suna’s chin was on full view on Osamu’s phone screen. 

Osamu was about to ask why the fuck Suna was showing him his chin when Osamu noticed something… different.

“Did you grow a mini stubble?!”

“Hell yeah, honey.” Rintarou smirked. “I can finally use this razor I bought ages ago.”

Well,  _ damn _ .)

  
  
  


Osamu definitely didn’t miss the sensation of only feeling numbness in the place of his ass after more than ten hours of flight to go back to Japan. Without stops, he couldn’t even have the pretension of saying he browsed the duty-free section of Seoul's airport. He did browse the Charles de Gaulle’s airport one, though he almost didn’t manage to fit it all in his cabin bag. 

But, after more than ten hours and after losing all sensations in his butt and lower back, Osamu was  _ finally _ home.

Home sweet home, at last. 

The Tokyo airport wasn’t particularly crowded, even though it was a weekend day, close to the summer holidays. But, at least, it allowed him to spot his mom more easily. And when she engulfed him in a strong hug, Osamu couldn’t help but think it definitely felt nice to be hugged like that once in a while. 

“Come on,” she said, brushing some strand of his hair away from his eyes. “I’m sure you have a lot to tell me, let’s put everything in the car and go back home, yeah? Your brother will come back to Hyogo in the evening.”

Maybe Osamu missed Atsumu too. Just a little bit. He wouldn’t mind being alone in his parents’ home for a few more days, though. Maybe Osamu could trick him in staying in Osaka for a few more days.

He tried to evilly plan this all day long, but when Atsumu pushed the door of their childhood home open later in the evening and jumped on his back as a greeting, Osamu thought that maybe it wasn’t that bad after all. 

  
  
  


“When are you going back to Tokyo?” Atsumu asked, after a few days. They were in the garden, passing an old volleyball between them.

“Next week.” Osamu answered, and spiked the ball into the grass, near Atsumu’s feet.

His twin grinned. “Tell Sunarin I said hi.”

Osamu rolled his eyes and spiked the next set to his brother’s face. Perfect shot.

“That was uncalled for ‘Samu you dipshit!”

  
  
  


Osamu wasn’t even surprised that the elevator of their apartment building was out of order. It happened way too often to still be surprised. Didn’t mean he wasn’t annoyed, he would have gladly avoided to push his suitcase up to the third floor and in the narrow staircase.

Well, at least that was another familiar thing he was going back to.

As he climbed the stairs, lifting his suitcase with one arm behind him, his heart started pounding in his ribcage. And it wasn’t because of the effort. No, but more because of what —  _ who _ — Osamu will find behind the doors. Who he will see after so long apart. 

A year wasn’t necessarily long, when you thought about it. But Osamu felt like he hadn't stepped foot in the familiar hallway for decades rather than the near twelve months he was gone. It made every hair on his arms stand. And when he stopped in front of the door of his apartment, of the apartment he shared with Rintarou, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, breath short. 

When Osamu pushed the door open, suddenly he was three years in the past to the day he first discovered his apartment, and the first time he pushed open this exact same door. The view behind it was the same. Rintarou was there, already. Standing in the middle of the living room with a canvas in front of him and a brush in one hand. Except that, contrary to three years ago, just like Osamu, he had grown. Both in height and as a person. Contrary to three years ago, his hair was longer, but his eyes were the same. The same green color Osamu could get lost into. 

And, contrary to three years ago, they didn’t find each other after months of silence, after months of being basically strangers. This time, they found each other back after a journey apart, but knowing the other was waiting at home. 

Years ago, Osamu would have laughed at the Louis Armstrong song he could hear from Rintarou’s speakers, but, right now and after everything, he could only find himself to think that ‘hell yeah, what a wonderful world you’re offering me, right now’. 

Rintarou’s eyes lifted up and fell on him. Osamu hadn’t moved from his spot yet, but, seeing the blooming smile — damn Louis Armstrong really was fitting — on Rintarou’s face, Osamu let the handle of his suitcase go, crashing on the floor but he didn’t care. He was pretty sure he never crossed the apartment as fast as he just did, meeting Rintarou in the middle as their bodies crashed against each other.

Osamu’s arms found their way around Rintarou’s waist and his face in the other’s neck, inhaling a scent he didn’t know he missed that much until he could finally be able to smell it again. Coffee, paint and that sugary shampoo and soap Rintarou always used. 

He didn’t know who lifted their head first or who initiated it. But, he did know that they must have thought the same because the next second, their lips were on each other’s, teeth clashing in their hurry but they laughed it off. Rintarou’s hands cupped his cheeks and Osamu could only do the same, caressing his face with his thumb and relishing in the moment. Relishing the feeling of Rintarou’s lips on his after  _ so long _ . He wanted to look at Rintarou, but he couldn’t find the strength to open his eyes. 

People, his granny, his mom, always have told Osamu that drowning was scary. But, right now, as Osamu was drowning, drowning in Rintarou’s lips, in his tongue that was caressing his and  _ just Rintarou,  _ Osamu didn’t find drowning scary at all. It was peaceful. 

He missed  _ this _ so much it made his head spin.

“What’s all of this about?” Osamu chuckled in the kiss. Not that he was complaining, he missed Rintarou’s lips on his. He couldn’t help but dive back on them.

“Can’t I kiss my boyfriend welcome back?”

Osamu froze. He was silent for a second, a  _ long _ second. He stared, stared and stared at Rintarou, who only raised an eyebrow in question, his face still caged between Osamu’s hands.

“Boyfriend?” he repeated.

“Well… yeah?” Rintarou said, frown deepening. 

“We were  _ dating _ all this time?!” Osamu shrieked. 

“Weren’t we? I thought it was obvious when I kissed you back to that one time you kissed me in front of my bedroom.”

He comforted himself in the fact that Suna seemed as confused as him. That was at least that.

Damn, they were fucking idiots. Atsumu be damned, Osamu will never give him reason. 

Osamu closed his eyes and heaved out a sigh, but a chuckle escaped his lips. “Rin,” he cupped the other man’s face with his hands tighter, yet incredibly softer. He opened his eyes and looked at Rintarou. He could feel the fondness flowing his veins. How could he not? “Rin, baby,” he caressed his cheekbones with his thumbs and leaned closer until their noses touched. “Use your words.” he chuckled again. 

“You didn’t say anything either!” Rintarou exclaimed, lightly punching his arm before his hand wrapped around his wrist, gently. “I thought you understood and it was clear for both of us.”

“We are idiots.” Osamu only stated.

Rintarou sighed. He kissed Osamu’s palm and squeezed his wrist before getting up from the couch they had fallen onto at some point, leaving a dumbfounded Osamu behind as he entered his room. Osamu didn’t move from his spot in the living room. Relief enveloped his body when he saw Rintarou going out of his bedroom a few seconds later. 

Relief was quickly replaced by curiosity when he spotted something in Suna’s hands. It was a canvas and a small easel. 

Osamu could only look confusedly as Rintarou settled a full sized canvas in front him. When he realized what the painting represented, Osamu felt his eyes widening. And maybe tears gathering in eyes too, just a little. 

The canvas was a sea of warm colors, each brushstroke shaping a face he knew because it was his own. He was smiling on this. His teeth were on full display, and he could also spot the crinkles under his eyes. Ones Rintarou once told him he had when he was genuinely smiling or laughing. (Ones Rintarou loved to see, he also told him, because it meant he was happy.) It was like looking at a taken picture of himself, his face depicted by black lines, except all the colors he would find on a picture were replaced by the ones of the warm palettes. 

And it’s Rintarou who made it. That’s…

“When did you do that?” Osamu asked, voice shaky.

Suna smiled gently, yet a hint of proudness shined in his eyes. “Last year,” he revealed. “It was my final assignment of the year. Teachers wanted us to represent something of our choice, anything we wanted that made us happy, we just had to use the warm palettes.” 

“And you painted me.”

Rintarou nodded. “Actually, the warm palettes were a good thing because that’s what you make me feel like when we’re together. I’m just,” he shrugged. “Coated in warmth. And you make me happy. But you also make me the happiest when I can see and  _ feel _ you’re also happy. All of this,” he gestured to the painting. “That represents how happy and warm you make me.” 

His smile kept his gentleness, the proudness in his eyes had given place to fondness and Osamu could feel himself melt like snow in the middle of summer. He missed this, he missed Rintarou. 

_ So fucking much. We’re really fucking idiots.  _ Bordel de merde.

“In case you didn’t notice,” Rintarou looked at him pointedly, yet with a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. “I have a big, massive crush on you. Like, Jupiter sized.”

“Full canvas of me smiling sized?” Osamu muttered.

“Full canvas of you smiling sized.” Rintarou agreed. 

It wasn’t the first time it happened, but when Osamu dived on Rintarou’s lips and tasted the sour candy he’s always eating at the back of his tongue, it definitely felt like the first time all over again. 

  
  


“Oh, by the way,” Rintarou said, a few hours later, when they were tangled up on the couch and watching some movie on TV. “I received something from EJP.”

Osamu dropped his gaze from the TV screen to look at the man in his arms instead. 

“What is it?”

“Don’t know,” Suna shrugged. “Didn’t open it yet.”

Osamu chuckled, rolled his eyes and nudged him. “C’mon open it!”

“I know what it is, though,” he added, standing up. “Komori made sure it arrived to me sooner than it was supposed to.”

A few seconds later, he came back with a parcel in hands. It looked like…

“That’s the uniform?” Osamu asked, in awe. Oh my god.

Rintarou only nodded and sat back next to him, the package secured on his lap. He looked at Osamu.

“They told me they changed the color, recently,” he said. “I’m scared of what I’m going to find in this.”

The serious look on Rintarou’s face made Osamu laugh. Come on, it couldn’t be that bad. 

Osamu told him exactly this and ushered him to open the parcel already. Rintarou sighed but got to work. 

When the color revealed itself, he freezed. Osamu had to bite his lips to keep his grin to himself. 

“No,” Rintarou simply said. “Absolute fucking no.”

The yellow was quite… vibrant. And everywhere. 

“And Atsumu’s high school number too?” he mumbled, getting the yellow jersey out. He slumped against the couch, head looking at the ceiling. “Can’t I catch a break?”

“Stop being dramatic,” Osamu slapped his thigh, gently and rummaged through the package. Ah, there it was. “The one you have in hands is the alternate uniform.” he pointed out, holding a white jersey with yellow stripes on the side. “That’s your main one.”

Rintarou scrunched his nose. “Yellow…”

“Raijin,” Osamu pointed out, again, trying not to laugh. “And the main one makes you look like little clouds, it’s cute.”

“Thunder isn’t necessarily  _ yellow _ ,” Rintarou straightened up, holding a finger at Osamu. “It can be white, pink, blue —“

Osamu kissed him on the lips, the bright yellow alternate jersey falling from Rintarou’s hands. 

They still surely had a lot to talk about, but Osamu knew it was okay. They will definitely be okay.

  
  
  
  
  


In the loud chatter of the Tokyo branch of  _ Onigiri Miya _ , between the customers laughing and cheering and the sound of the little television he settled on one of the walls of the shop, which was retransmitting the Olympics on live, Osamu turned to look at Shinsuke next to him when he heard a table of customers praising the actions of the Japan National Volleyball Team. 

Kita chuckled. 

“Ain’t my old teammates amazing?” his former captain asked, turning to smile at the old ladies behind them. 

He was wearing this proud smile he wore that same day when they lost to Karasuno. Osamu was hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. 

Look at how far they’ve all come. 

When a familiar middle blocker with dark and short hair, parted in bangs appeared on screen to join Atsumu and Aran’s antics, the two other players sweeping him in hugs and hair rubs despite his complaints and the scowl on his face (that they all knew was just for show, Osamu could perfectly see the proudness underneath it), Osamu grinned and turned to Kita and his customers. 

“I might be biased saying this, though, but,” he smiled wholeheartedly, content, happy, at home. “Ain’t my fiancé amazing?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading if you read this far ! \o/ 
> 
> Comments and kudos are my serotonin boost!
> 
> You can find me here:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bokutowantsyou)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/bokutowantsyou)  
> 


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